In the latest issue of Ninth Letter, Robin Hemley has a poem called “Rejected Book Ideas” that almost reads like a McSweeney’s list. It begins as follows:
For a year, I’ll wear one sock inside out.
For a year, I’ll eat only Bibb lettuce.
For a year, I’ll pretend I’m invisible.
I’ll speak with a fake French accent for a year. The Year of Speaking with a Fake French Accent.
I will pee sitting down for a month — The Month of Peeing Sitting Down.
Further ideas rejected upon due consideration include: being a serial murderer, becoming a prosititute, being ready for trouble (although not seeking it), having his hair cut, one hair at a time, by a thousand hair stylists, and traveling the world in a baby carriage: “No one has yet done that.” (Each one done in a year’s time, of course.) It’s an endearing satirical poem, and even kind of beautiful. Available only on paper.
The actual book that Hemley settled upon writing? Doing over some stuff he blew the first time. Like when he was eight.
